Sarah here! And my goodness, calm down everyone. Did you see character death listed in the rating? No? Well there you have it. *catches muttering about near-death and bad injuries* Yes, um… responses! Yes.
Starfleet Hobbit: Glad it meets with your approval!
Freakizimi: Thanks! Most of our original planning session was devoted to a lot of "How about ___?" "No, Suchandsuch already did ___. Maybe ___?" "Uh-uh, Tolkien himself did that in Two Towers." "Oh yeah." So I'm glad you like what we came up with!
Princess Leia: Crush. Crush Aragorn. Well, to retain perfect honesty, I must tell you that we *did* consider it quite seriously. I just can't tell you what we decided just now. *dodges flying Legolas plushie*
Infinity: S'okay, just post when you have time! And I'm glad we were able to set your mind at rest about the slaves! Maybe that will make up for our next trick. *smiles innocently*
Cheysuli: You're making me nervous; could you maybe not do that *on* the thread?? And I don't think there's any chance of Aragorn drifting off in a tunnel full of orcs. Those sorts of things tend to induce adrenaline… ; )
Iverson: You like our tension? I'm glad to hear it! But please don't have a fit…
Jay of Lasgalen: Okay, I won't tell you if he's in front. And Nori *was* the name of one of Thorin's companions, but our Nori is not him. Since Tolkien didn't mind duplicating some of his names (he had two completely different Ori's) we figured it was okay to nab a few for our own use! : )
e: Oooh, money! Of course, I'd have to change my disclaimer ('I'm not getting paid for this', etc.)… *sigh* And you keep coming up with cool things I wish I had added! I wish I could have exploited *your* mind. ; P
Rainy Dayz: I wouldn't say it was our *goal*, but, well, perks are always nice… *grins* Okay, okay, j/k. And why would we injure our main characters?? Haven't they been through enough? *smiles very unconvincingly*
Emmithar: *vaguely* Nice little ending? Uh, I think we already used those up during the first part of this fic (believe it or not)… I think we might have one on the second to last chapter! : )
saber crazy: Okay, fine, but you have to handle the cost of the damages, because my insurance doesn't cover clever readers. ; )
Enigma Jade: Just keep scrolling!
Lina Skye: Ooookey-dokey… Well, I suppose wanting to pick up his pieces is a compliment too… *shakes head to clear it* Glad you're liking it!
JastaElf: Oo, long review! I like those. : ) And thanks for the praise! In making this story we freaked our sister out by writing (amongst other things) a timeline and an injury chart, allotting such and so number of days for recovery after each injury, and so on. That helped us keep on track fairly well, but we still kind of worried we were cutting things too close, so I'm glad you approved in the end! I've never but *never* liked that aspect in other fics I've read either. Thanks for reading! And don't worry: we don't get too pressured. After all, you can't get us way over in-- but I think I'd better not tell you where we live. ; )
SpaceVixen: All you're missing are the pom-poms! ; )
Halo: I knew I shouldn't have mentioned that song… *giggles*
LittleFish: *hands LittleFish a tissue* I'm sorry you're so under the weather, but I'm glad our little post helped out at least a bit! And was *that* what your guess was? We actually had to think long and hard before we decided to send him to help Legolas and just leave a note for the slaves, so it's kind of funny that you were thinking along those lines. Glad our final choice worked out for you too! And thank you for your comments on our OC's!! We're both rather fond of them, and like to hear whether they turned out okay or not.
And as for Dorm: He's a Leader. He's a proud and stubborn leader and he'll never admit he was wrong *out loud*, but he knows when he's misjudged people and he'll make use of whatever info comes his way, even if he doesn't much like the source.
Now go right back to bed and get better, you hear me? : )
And my goodness, that took a while!! Post ahead.
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Death or Despair
By Sarah and Hannah
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
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Chapter 16
Battle Preparations
Nowin moved between the barrels of mead, heading once more towards his post at the far wall of the southwest storeroom. Not a sound had he heard all night, and had told his lord so, but Dorm was taking no chances: wherever the tunnel opened at last, the ruler of Gilthad intended to know of it well ahead of time.
Settling himself down with his back to the wall, Nowin just caught a faint movement out of the corner of his eye and sprang up, his hand going to his axe. "Come out from there, whoever you are," he ordered. "No one is to be here but the storeroom keepers and me." The figure that had been crouched behind one of the barrels rose, becoming taller than any dwarf Nowin had ever seen, and stepped into the light, inclining it's head politely.
"Your pardon, master dwarf. I will leave." It was the elf.
Nowin glared, mostly at himself for not realizing the creature had been there all along, as it soon became clear he must have been. Over in the corner where the elf had been sitting were three small piles of material: one of arrow heads, one of fletching, and one of shafts. Shaking his head as the elf made to collect his things and go, Nowin moved closer, just idle enough to be interested in what the creature was doing so far under ground.
Accepting the permission and seating himself once more, Legolas returned to his work as the dwarf leaned against a sack of barley and eyed him, his forehead creasing.
"What are you at?" Nowin asked bluntly, recognizing the fletching feathers as those the dwarves themselves used.
"Your lord was gracious enough to allow me the privilege of arming myself from your stores." Legolas replied coolly, his slender fingers maneuvering a small knife with careful precision as he sighted along a shaft and then set to shaving it thinner.
"And you thank him by taking the gift apart?" Nowin demanded, mesmerized in spite of himself by the steady rhythm of a Silvan elf at work.
Legolas began binding what appeared to be an arrow head to the end of the shaft, but it had been changed so that it looked more like a small, pointed leaf to the dwarf. "Your bows are too small," the elf explained, "and your arrows are generally crooked. I am merely repairing what I do not have time to make afresh."
Nowin could easily see that the bow sitting next to the elf was completely new, and though not carved as intricately as the one Legolas had formerly owned, it was admittedly beautiful. Still, the comment about the quality of his own weapons rankled him and so he said nothing about it, choosing instead to settle back and watch as the elf cut a long strand of his own hair to bind the feathers to the end of the shaft. Lifting one of the completed arrows from their pile, Nowin turned it over in his rough hands, noticing, as only a dwarf fond of archery could have, the subtle variations in manufacture from those in his own quiver.
"And how much difference does all this pottering make?" He snorted, tossing the arrow back again and lifting his own hunting bow from his shoulder proudly. He knew it had surprised the elf that they were archers, and knew also that, among dwarves at least, they were considered quite good shots.
The elf stiffened, his sharp blue-gray eyes catching the dwarf contemptuously, "Master dwarf, as I have told your lord, your greatest opportunity for victory lies in your archers. With the flaw in their armor, the orcs stand little chance against a well aimed shot. However, a well aimed shot is worthless if the weapon aimed will not travel it's correct course." Rising abruptly, the elf twitched his hair over his shoulder, notched a shaft to his bow, and almost without seeming to consider his shot, let the arrow loose. Far across the storeroom, a candle by the record books winked out and there was a faint clatter as the shaft landed somewhere beyond.
Not allowing himself to show surprise, yet knowing full well a target as small and distant as that was well beyond him, Nowin turned back to find the elf gazing at him. "If I were you, master dwarf, I would practice hard." With that, Legolas stepped lightly around the dwarf and started across the room to retrieve his arrow.
For a moment Nowin stood still, but then, with a glance to make sure the elf couldn't see, he lifted one of the remade shafts and turned quietly back to his post. Settling down behind a stack of barrels, with one ear cocked to the wall again, he pulled out his knife and began to strip the fletching from his arrows.
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The large throne room of Mt. Gilthad had been temporarily converted into a shooting range for Funmar's archers, allowing them space to work underground, away from any spies of the enemy. Dorm was a hardened warrior and understood perfectly the value of a surprise defense, as well as a surprise attack.
Stumping down the short hall to a smaller antechamber, Moín shoved the door open and moved inside. This room also had been altered from it's original use of dining hall to a war room, it's table now covered in maps and a rough model of the western edge of Gilthad. Sitting around it were Dorm's most trusted dwarves with the lord himself positioned at the table's head. At his side sat Roden, the armorer, and they were conversing quietly.
Moín moved to the last empty seat between Bonfur and Thúril and took a moment to glance at the others in the room. Funmar was on Dorm's other side, listening intently to the conversation next to him. Frerin, Nori, and Nowin were sitting just next to him, and Frói was fidgeting with his short beard a few seats down. One dwarf from each of the watch shifts was there, as well as the keeper of the storerooms, the foreman of the miners, several from the smelting chambers, one from the smithy, and, not sitting, but standing in the far corner was — the elf. Moín's face became rigid and he turned resolutely away.
Rising, now that the table was filled, Dorm raised his voice to fill the chamber, "Dwarves, I have called you now to prepare a defense against coming invasion. Our four watchers have at last heard clear evidence that there *is* a tunnel being dug into our halls."
Low murmurs circulated, but they had become rather used to the idea by now, and the confirmation did little more than set the final seal on the possibility. However, Thúril leaned forward in concern, "My lord Dorm, did you say our *four* watchers?"
Dorm nodded grimly, "Yes, Thúril, the other three have heard the same sounds as you. We must suppose then that the enemy has split their tunnel into four branches, planning to break through at different points. This would normally lead to our slaughter, but because of advanced warning from Glor, we have time to prepare a fitting welcome for them."
Moín smirked in the direction of the elf, but Legolas was standing silent and impassive, letting no reaction to Dorm's omission of him show on his face. Indeed, it mattered little what the dwarves said or did not say about him, so long as they prevented the spread of Furnmorth's rule. And he was here to be sure they were capable.
"We will divide our forces as well," Dorm was saying, "and station our groups in each of the four rooms where the tunnels will open out. I myself will lead one group in the smelting chambers. Thúril, you will lead a second group in the guardroom. Bonfur will have charge of a third group in the northwest storeroom, and you, Moín, will have charge of the fourth group in the southwest storeroom. Funmar's archers will be divided amongst your groups."
Funmar nodded, stroking his braided beard, "Aye."
Dorm turned to Frói, "How long until Glor breaks through?"
Frói looked ill at ease as he rose to make his report, "My lord Dorm, Glor says two days, but he fears that the army will have already arrived before then."
Dorm jerked his head in acknowledgment, "It is as I thought. Tell him to continue as ordered and let it fall when it falls. We will plan without it."
The meeting lasted for several hours, with thought taken to the natural defenses of the four chambers, the sorts of tactics that might be used to slay large numbers of the enemy, and the absolute necessity of keeping their foes contained — "Once they come around behind us, they will be nearly impossible to hunt down." Dorm had reminded everyone darkly. Finally, when the companies had been assigned to their leaders, the provisions accounted for, the armor listed, and last instructions provided, everyone was slowly dismissed to their tasks until Dorm was standing alone, gazing at the model of the four rooms where his mountain's fate would be decided.
At least, not quite alone.
"I know you are still there," he announced gruffly. "Don't bother hiding."
Legolas stepped from the shadows, his newly filled quiver slung over his shoulder with his bow, and two daggers strapped strangely to his back, his face blank. "I was not hiding, Lord Dorm."
"Of course." The dwarf's tone was sarcastic. "I suppose you'll be fleeing towards the woods, or wherever, now you have the means to protect yourself?"
Legolas shook his head, his strangely cut hair, which he had braided carefully out of his way, swaying gently with the movement, "No, I will stay and fight."
Dorm glanced sidelong at the elf, his bushy eyebrows connecting in a frown, "You'll what?"
"I will stay and fight," Legolas repeated. "Furnmorth must be defeated and I will do what I must to see that done."
Humphing softly, the dwarf lord turned away, "As you will."
Legolas shrugged, "What is more, I still have a friend in Gundabad. I will not be turning home without him."
"What if he's already dead?" Dorm suggested harshly, his own worries hardening his words.
The elf didn't answer, but looking down at his left hand, he clenched it silently.
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The ropes creaked, tightening in the calloused hands that tugged on them, slowly lifting another chunk of stone from the narrow shaft and moving it to the center of the marked rectangle. Glor wiped his arm across his forehead, looking around at the eight other shafts being dug, four on one side, four on the other, and at the large pile of stone gathering in the center.
"Three days work," he grunted, unsure whether to feel pleased that his estimate was proving true, or to feel disturbed that the tunnel had not yet fallen through. Not so much as a buckle or a twitch from the stone beneath his feet. Or was there…? Faintly, like the rumbling of the tide as heard from far inland, there came a murmur from the earth; a faint tremor that was like a wisp of cloud: half real, half vapor.
Around him, the other workers had paused as well, their tools poised in mid-motion as their legs, more than their ears, caught the sound. Crouching in the light powdering of snow and stone dust, his fingers brushing the rock, Glor nodded with certainty.
"They're on their way."
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Standing in the darkness, his back against a finely hewn pillar, Legolas' fingers flexed gently as they held his bow, his bright eyes glittering faintly as they moved from left to right. Even without the finely tuned intuition of the dwarves and their stones, he could feel the pounding of feet, and hear the snarling of the beasts that were soon to be let loose.
Cocking his head to the side, ready to turn immediately towards the first room that sounded in need of aid, Legolas remained still and silent.
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In each of the four chambers, the dwarves also stood silently, the torchlight reflecting brightly on their dark eyes, rough skin, and fearsome expressions. Line upon line, bows drawn amongst the archers, and axes hefted amongst the rest, they waited.
Letting his gaze travel over the ranks around him, Dorm let a grim smile grace his lips; if today he must die, he would go gladly. Dorm, son of Damrod, Lord of Gilthad, warrior of the Iron Hills, ruler of a formidable people. But until then — and his grip tightened on his axe — his duty was to fight, and fight well. For his throne, for his mountain, and for his subjects.
From the front of the room, the echoes of movement halted and there was a sudden scraping sound. With a loud *chhok*, a spike was driven sudden through the wall from behind, a second appearing almost immediately after it, nearly ten paces further on. A third appeared farther down from the first, a fourth farther down from the second, and a fifth in the middle.
Then, with a smattering crash, all five pegs were hit simultaneously and the wall burst inwards. Before the echoes had even reached the far wall, there was horrible yell and from the spreading dust, there sprang the first row of the horde, hunger in their eyes.
TBC…